


Making up for Lost Time

by savedatlast



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, Diners, Fluff, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Mostly Fluff, Motels, Post Season 8, and kissing, angst? maybe a little..., cas is totally dean's worried husband, fingers running through hair, hand holding, realverse au, supportive sammy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 19:17:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1316248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savedatlast/pseuds/savedatlast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean wakes up to discover that he's missing some of his memory. Waking up next to his best friend complicates things a little. (aka the one where Dean breaks his brain and loses two weeks and it just happens to be the two weeks during which he and Cas get their shit together). Also Sam is constantly 1000% done with them. </p><p>*SPOILERS*<br/>Takes place sometime around season 9, but Sam was never possessed by Gadreel and Cas doesn't get his grace back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What started out as a detail-writing practice drabble thingy turned into a nearly 10,000 word fic. Oops.  
> Enjoy :3

Dean opens his eyes. The room he's in is dimly lit, sunlight weakly filtering through the slats of the venetian blinds. He can just make out hideous floral wallpaper and a water-stained ceiling.

 _Another 5-star motel room,_ he thinks sarcastically. He can faintly hear cars passing by on the freeway outside.

He's lying on a bed, something warm and heavy pressed against his right side, but in his half-conscious state he doesn't find it that important. Mattress coils dig mercilessly into his back as he blinks the sleep away. He brings his left hand up to rub at his eyes and notices a thick white bandage covering the entire appendage from wrist to thumb.

He gawks at the makeshift cast for a moment before conscious awareness fully takes hold and he bolts upright. Bad idea. His head is swimming and there's a sharp pain radiating from his temples and he feels like he's going to be sick, so he lies back down.

He doesn't remember being injured – come to think, he doesn't remember much of anything right now. Last thing Dean can recall is heading down to Louisiana to take down a vamp nest with his brother and Castiel. He doesn't even remember catching up with the vamps. He feels almost hungover, but can’t remember having a single drink. He stares at his bandaged hand for a while longer, wracking his brain, trying to chase down the lost time.

A soft murmur comes from the forgotten warmth to his right, startling him, and he just about falls off the bed. All he can see in the darkened room is a large, oddly shaped lump under the dingy floral comforter. With his good hand, he slowly pulls back the sheets and is greeted with a mess of dark hair, broad shoulders, and a lean, tanned back. He can't see the man's face but he doesn't need to. He knows exactly who it is.

Suddenly Dean is very aware of the fact that neither he nor Cas is wearing anything but boxers.

A barrage of questions attacks his sleep-slowed brain.

_Why is Cas in my bed?_

_What happened to my hand?_

_Why is there only one bed in the room?_

_Where's Sam?_

Before he has time to come up with an answer to any one of them, Cas turns over in his sleep and gives a quiet, content-sounding sigh. A faint smile graces his lips and his eyelids flutter briefly before he is pulled back into a deep sleep. His face and chest are flushed with warmth, wild hair sticking up at all angles. Dean watches as Cas' expression grows worrisome – even in sleep, his eyebrows furrow and a frown tugs at the corners of his mouth. Dean wishes the blissful smile would come back. He gets lost in the steady rise and fall of Castiel's chest as he breathes, forgetting for a moment the obvious question still pressing at the back of his mind. 

The sound of a door slamming from somewhere outside snaps him out of his trance and he gingerly pulls himself into a sitting position, glancing at the clock on the right bedside table. It's nearly 6:30AM; Sam should be up by now. Dean wonders if he should go looking for him, but he doesn't know which room he's in and it's too early to go banging on doors, so he settles for at least getting out of bed so he can figure this whole thing out.

As he's about to swing his legs off the bed and start looking for his clothes, a strong arm wraps around his waist and tugs him closer. Cas' eyes are still closed but he's at least semi-awake, the frown on his heat-flushed face more pronounced. 

"What time is it?" he grumbles.

His voice is even more gravelly first thing in the morning, Dean notes.

Dean is too stunned to reply, and Cas is forced to open his eyes, blinking blearily. He twists around to check the clock and groans when he reads the time. 

"Don't even think about getting up yet," Cas demands, and he tugs Dean even closer. Dean is still terribly confused, but he doesn't know what else to do, and strangely, it feels like he belongs there, curled up tight next to Cas. In some deep, foggy corner of his mind, it feels like home. So he lies back down, the apprehensive part of his brain keeping him from doing what feels natural and tangling their legs together and snaking his arms around the ex-angel's waist.

He almost doesn’t want to ask, but decides that, at this point, getting answers is more important than the awkwardness the question would surely create. “Cas?” he begins tentatively.

Castiel huffs and mumbles something inaudible. He tilts his face toward Dean’s but his eyes stay closed, “Mmm?”

“This might sound... strange...” Dean tries to figure out the right way to pose the question delicately, “but, what... happened?”

Cas doesn’t respond for a moment, as if waiting for the rest of the question. Then he blinks his eyes open and raises a brow.

“You’re going to have to be more specific.”

Dean already feels like an idiot, so he veers off and takes a different route. “What happened to my hand?”

Castiel’s brows furrow again and he looks confused and adorably sleepy. He props himself up on an elbow, rubbing at his eyes, “Is this a joke? You know I’m not good with jokes, Dean.”

Dean knows that much. He sits up slowly and holds up his bandaged hand, “I’m not joking, Cas.”

Castiel looks at his hand like it’s always been covered in a thick white bandage. Then realization dawns and he sits up quickly. His expression instantly becomes wary and alarmed, “You don’t remember?”

Dean slowly shakes his head, green eyes staring at Cas’ anxious blue ones and growing increasingly worried by the second. He feels his stomach do a backflip.

“When did this happen?” he asks, genuinely freaked out now.

Castiel looks apprehensive, “We should go get Sam...” He’s avoiding Dean’s eyes now.

“When, Cas?”  he asks, a bit more harshly than intended, but he’s legitimately freaking out.

“Four days ago,” Castiel says, looking just as freaked as Dean feels.

“Four days,” Dean echoes. His head is still pounding, but at least the room has stopped spinning. 

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Castiel asks, inching closer to Dean on the bed, kneeling now.

Dean searches his brain once more for any hidden clues, but none appear to be surfacing. He scratches absently at the back of his neck. “I remember driving down to Louisiana to air out a vamp nest, but that’s about it.”

Castiel’s slightly horrified expression isn’t at all comforting.

“Dean, that was over two weeks ago.” Cas is staring at him, and then that spark of realization appears on his face again, and he backs up. Dean can feel his heart pounding all the way to the back of his throat. Another wave of nausea breaks over him.

Cas crawls off the bed and roots around for his clothes, pulling on his jeans before buttoning up a plaid shirt that looks like one of Dean’s. “Get dressed, we need to talk to Sam.”

Dean stands, looking around for his clothes. He spots his jeans on the floor by the end of the bed and tugs them on. He doesn’t see a shirt anywhere.

“Here,” Cas grabs a black t-shirt from a large duffle bag on the floor and tosses it over to him as he heads for the door.

“Cas, hold up a sec.” Dean has one more question that he’d rather not ask in his brother’s presence.

Castiel freezes, hand on the doorknob. Dean steps around the foot of the bed, stopping a few feet behind him. Castiel turns around, his bright eyes glowing in a shaft of sunlight. That concerned look hasn’t left his face and it feels like a punch to the stomach.

Dean takes a deep breath, “When did... _this_ ” he gestures between them, “happen?”

Castiel averts his gaze to stare at a boring, generic lighthouse painting on the wall. He doesn’t look like he wants to answer. Or maybe he thinks Dean doesn’t want... whatever it is they have anymore, now that it’s as if it never happened.

Dean takes a step closer. “Come on, Cas,” he implores softly.

Castiel keeps staring at the painting, but answers. “Two weeks ago.”

 _Shit._ Though the room is still shrouded in semi-darkness, Dean can see Cas’ pained expression clear as day and he hates that he’s the one who put it there.

He shuffles one step closer, reaches out to put a hand on Cas’ shoulder, then thinks better of it.

“I’m sorry, Cas.” Dean leans against the wall and drags his hands down his face, wishing he could remember _something._ Anything.

“So that’s it then?”  Cas has turned his gaze back to Dean, but now it’s less worried, more resigned.

Dean lets his hands fall to his sides and rights himself, “What?”

Cas turns and reaches for the door handle again. Dean closes the distance in two strides and shoves the half-opened door closed. “We’re not done here.”

Cas defiantly tugs on the doorknob again, but Dean doesn’t budge.

“What else is there to say, Dean?” Cas drops his hand from the doorknob and takes a step back, clearly pissed but Dean can’t figure why.

Dean takes a step as well. He tries to calm himself down, but it’s not working very well. “I’m trying to figure this out, alright? I just woke up and found out I’ve lost two weeks.” He runs a hand through his hair as Castiel stands before him, expression softening a bit.

“I know,” Cas offers. He sits back down on the bed, head in his hands.

“Hey,” Dean walks to the end of the bed and sits down beside him. “We’ll figure it out.

Cas raises his head, “We?”

“Yeah,” Dean can feel his throat tightening, and his stomach hasn’t settled much. His head is still pounding, and he knows he should go get Sam soon, but he wants to make sure Cas understands first.

“I don’t know how... this...” he gestured between them again, “us... happened,” Cas is looking at him curiously and Dean swallows around the nervous lump in his throat. “But, way  I see it, it was only a matter of time.” As much as Dean would like to know what finally pushed them over the edge they’d been standing on for years, he’s satisfied with the knowledge that eventually, something did.

Cas’ face is near unreadable. He purses his lips, uncertain, but his eyes, once again shining in a ray of sun, are hopeful. He says nothing.

_Damnit,Cas. Don’t you get it yet?_

Dean takes another deep breath, tries to keep his voice level, “I’m not gonna give it up just because I can’t remember anything.”

One corner of Cas’ mouth curves upward into a smile, “So... you’re okay with this?” Castiel doesn’t gesture but Dean understands perfectly well to what he refers. And he is more than okay with it.

“Yeah, Cas.” Dean grins, but when Cas still looks uncertain, he adds “Just, give me some time to get used to it again.”

Cas nods, and tentatively reaches for Dean’s un-bandaged hand, closing his own over it. “We’ll figure it out.” His smile widens, “Let’s go see your brother.”

Dean feels all the uneasiness he was harbouring about waking up next to his best friend dissipate. He turns his hand over to wrap his thumb and forefinger around Cas’ wrist and gently tug him closer. “How about we try jogging my memory first?”

He leans forward and for the first time in his recollection, presses his lips to Castiel’s.

***

Sam is awake, showered, and dressed by the time they arrive at his room, a little after seven.

They decide to wait to tell Sam until they’re seated in a booth at a small diner a few blocks from the motel.  Dean and Castiel slide into the cracked, orange vinyl bench on one side of the table, Sam takes the other. A waitress quickly comes to fill their coffee cups, they order breakfast, and then Dean drops the bomb.

“So you don’t remember anything from the past two weeks?” Sam looks baffled and a bit scared, much like Cas did earlier, and it’s really not helping Dean feel better about the situation.

He shakes his head. “Nada. I was in the car, you were driving to Lousiana and then I woke up in a motel in..... where are we?” Dean looks out the window for clues.

“Tennessee,” Cas interjects.

Sam just gapes at Dean. “So, nothing at all.”

Sam’s eyes dart to Cas, who flashes a quiet smile and says, “he knows.”

Dean grins, having noticed the not-so-subtle exchange, “Yeah I think waking up in the same bed was a pretty solid clue.”

Sam rolls his eyes, “Thanks for that. Better not ruin my breakfast.”

“Is that a challenge?” Dean smirks.

Sam opens his mouth to form a retort.

“Could you two please focus on the more important matter at hand?” Cas glowers at both of them, and Dean can see his hand is shaking where he’s tightly gripping the handle of his coffee mug.

“Hey,” Dean carefully covers Castiel’s hand with his own and pulls it away. He places both their hands under the table on the seat between them while his thumb traces slow, calming circles into Cas’ palm. “Okay. So let’s figure this out.”

As they eat their breakfast, they fill Dean in on what’s happened in the last fortnight. Cas spares Sam the details of their budding relationship, but Dean can get it out of him later. What he needs to know now is how he hurt his hand, and most importantly, why his memory decided to drop two weeks.

“We managed to take out the vamps, but you got knocked down a flight of stairs. You weren’t waking up so we took you to a hospital, and you didn’t wake up for three days.” Sam suddenly looks haggard, like those three days drained him completely.

Dean feels Cas tense up beside him, wants to reassure him that he’s fine, but he’s not entirely certain of that himself.

“That was about a week and a half ago. The doctor wanted to keep you there for a few more days, said you’d damaged something pretty bad and there might be adverse effects down the road, but you refused.” Sam throws his hands up in the air like ‘what else is new’.

Castiel casts an admonishing glare at Dean, who shrugs weakly.

“After that we headed to Albuquerque to deal with a haunting. Standard salt and burn. Next day, caught wind of some demon activity, and now we’re here.” Sam finishes and shoves another forkful of eggs into his mouth.

Dean nods again, taking it in. One thing remains, though. “So what happened to my hand?”

Sam almost chokes on his eggs and fights back a smirk, “Your uh, thumb is broken.”

Dean waits for him to elaborate, and when neither Sam nor Cas says anything he prompts, “Uh huh...”

Sam loses the fight and a sly grin breaks over his face, he looks pointedly at Cas, who pretends to be very interested in the scraps of food on his plate.

Dean looks from his brother, who seems like he’s barely holding back laughter, to Cas, who is growing steadily more red and remains silent. “What?”

Sam finally pipes up, unable to contain himself, “Cas slammed the trunk lid on it.” He abandons all efforts to conceal his laughter. Castiel gives Sam a smite-worthy glare but Dean finds himself laughing too.

 Cas stops glaring at Sam long enough to turn remorseful eyes toward Dean. “It was an accident,” Cas avows solemnly.  

Dean grins and side-eyes his brother who’s still laughing across the table. He lifts his good hand and wraps it around the back of Cas’ neck to pull him in for a quick, hopefully reassuring kiss. Dean can hear his brother stop laughing and grumble ‘really, Dean?’ the second their lips touch and Dean continues to grin through the brief but tantalizing moment of contact. They hover in the space between for a beat after they part and Dean mumbles, “S’all good Cas.”

From across the table, they hear Sam sigh impatiently and they sit back against the vinyl. Dean drops his hand, finding Cas’ under the table and threading their fingers together.

“So what’s going on with the demons?” Dean asks, smirking at Sam’s perfect little brother scowl.

Sam sighs again, but this time it’s a frustrated one, “Apparently nothing.”

Dean stares, puzzled at his brother, “Then what have we been doing for a week?”

“Well we thought they might be some of Abaddon’s followers. We tracked them down, managed to take ‘em all out, but she never showed.” Sam pulled his laptop out of his bag and brought up an article from a Denver newspaper claiming that a rash of missing persons reports were filed in the past 72 hours. “Now we’re thinking they might’ve been a diversion.”

Dean instantly enters business mode, “You think she’s picking up some new recruits, getting ready for the big showdown?”

Sam nods, “Could be.”

Dean had forgotten about the massive headache he’d woken up with, but now an intense wave of pain is raging through his head. He cringes and gasps, bringing the bandaged hand up reflexively to press against his forehead.

“Dean?” Cas has one hand on his shoulder, the other gently squeezing the hand it’s holding.

Dean feels woozy. His vision goes blurry and the sound of his brother echoing his name is almost too muffled to make out. He catches one hazy glimpse of blue eyes before everything goes black.

***

When he comes to, Dean is back in the motel bed. He blinks his eyes open, his sluggish brain struggling to make out dark shapes in the yellowish lamplight. His head feels worse, if possible, and his body feels weak. He tries to sit up, but barely lifts his head before he feels a strong hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t get up.”

He tries to form a coherent sentence, along the lines of ‘what happened’ but his mouth is cottony and dry and he doesn’t know if Cas understood.

“You passed out.”

Dean nods, _that was obvious_.

“Go back to sleep. I’ll be here.”

Dean slurs out an ‘okay’ as he can already feel sleep tugging at the barely conscious tendrils of his mind.

***

The next time he wakes up, he’s much more lucid. It’s pitch dark, save for the moonlight filtering through the blinds. His head still hurts, but his stomach appears to have settled down some. He’s stripped down to his boxers again; Cas must have removed his clothes before tucking him back into bed. He gingerly tries to prop himself up his elbows, searching the darkened room for the other man. He spots him curled up in an armchair beside the bed, unable to tell if he’s asleep.

“Cas,” Dean calls out, voice scratchy and barely above a whisper. Nothing. He’s about to try again when Cas stirs. He stretches and yawns, grumbling at the aches that come from sleeping in a chair.

Castiel finally notices Dean is awake and clambers off the chair, coming to sit on the side of the bed and hover over Dean. “How are you feeling?”

Dean’s arms are shaking so he pushes himself up the bed a bit and rests on the pillows. “Better. Why’re you sleepin’ in a chair?”

Cas’ face is illuminated by the moonlight filtering into the room, and Dean catches the hint of sadness that briefly shows before it’s replaced with concern, yet again. As flattered as Dean is to have Cas looking out for him, the constant worrying is going to drive him crazy.

“I didn’t want to rush you into anything.” Cas stands and begins to turn away and Dean won’t have that.

He slides over a bit and pulls back the sheets, reaching for Castiel’s hand. “C’mere.”

Cas hesitates, but complies, discarding his jeans and button-down before crawling into bed, facing Dean.

“You’re not rushing me,” Dean assures him. 

Castiel nods. He lifts a hand to feel Dean’s forehead. “You had a high fever earlier. Feels like it went down.” He cards his fingers through the hunter’s hair and brings his face within an inch of Dean’s, allowing him to close the gap and kiss him softly.

When Dean tries to deepen the kiss, Castiel pulls away. “There’s no way you’d have the energy for that.”

Dean pouts unconvincingly, until Cas tangles their legs together and wraps an arm around his waist. “Go back to sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

***

Dean awakens the next morning to the sounds of Castiel bustling around the kitchenette preparing a makeshift breakfast. He feels much better, the pain in his head merely a dull reminder of what it had been. He’s still weak, having not eaten anything in almost 24 hours. He manages to pull himself up to rest against the headboard, sheets pooling around his waist.

“Mornin’,” he croaks.

Cas looks up from the counter where he’s plating two slices of plain white toast. He carries the plate over and places it on the bedside table before sitting on the edge of the bed. “How’s your head?”

“Better,” Dean tells him, eyeing the plate.

Cas takes note and passes it to him and Dean gratefully takes a bite. It’s bland, but it’s food; something his body desperately needs. He continues to eat as Cas watches him, still with that fretful look on his face. Halfway through the second piece, Dean heaves a sigh.

“Would you stop looking at me like that? I’m fi—” he begins, but Cas cuts him off with a stern look.

“Don’t say it,” he warns. “You’re not fine, Dean.” He pulls the plate from Dean’s hand and places it back on the table eliciting an affronted ‘Hey!’ from the hunter. He levels a serious stare at Dean, “and I’m worried about you.”

Dean concedes, “I get it, Cas. I do. But I can’t take you looking at me like I’m gonna break.”

Castiel nods, tight-lipped and solemn and Dean’s heart aches. He holds his arms open, and Cas lies down, resting his head over Dean’s heart and laying a hand across his abdomen. Dean has one arm wrapped around his shoulder, the fingers of his other hand dragging lightly through Cas’ hair.

They stay like that for a few minutes, each listening to the other breathe. Dean feels like he could fall asleep again, but then Cas breaks the silence.

“When you were unconscious in the hospital, I would often imagine I was lying on the bed with you like this.”

Dean can’t see his face, but there’s an edge to his voice. He tightens his hold on Castiel a bit, “Why didn’t you?”

Cas shrugged, “Your brother was always there. If he wasn’t, it was hospital staff.” The next line is almost too quiet for Dean to hear. “And I didn’t know if you would have wanted me to.”

“Sam wouldn’t have minded,” Dean supplies. “Pretty sure he’s known longer than both of us.”

“Yeah,” Cas chuckles softly and Dean feels the vibration of it through his skin.

“I hated that I couldn’t just heal you, like I used to,” Cas’ voice is low but Dean can hear the bitterness behind it. He knows Castiel misses his grace, despite having adapted fairly well to humanity. He doesn’t know what to say, just lets him continue.

“So for three days, all I could do was worry at your side,” he huffs a half-hearted laugh. “Guess I’m still doing it.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Dean reassures him, pressing his lips to the top of Cas’ head. He never would have expected Cas to keep a constant vigil by his bedside, and he feels a tightness in his chest, like all the mixed emotions he’s experiencing – regret, happiness, anxiety, _love_ – are going to burst through it.

He shoves them aside in favour of scratching another curious itch.

“So, how did we end up sharing a bed?”

Cas’ face is still hidden, but Dean can feel the shy smile that graces his lips. “Well,” he begins, his voice a bit strained, “when you finally came to, I was so happy and thankful and...” he hesitates.

“Yeah...” Dean prompts, a sly grin breaking across his face.

“I may have become a bit overwhelmed and... kissed you.”

Dean doesn’t need to see his face to know Cas is blushing like crazy. He laughs, and says, “Wow, Cas. That’s... forward.”

Castiel scoffs, “I don’t recall you trying to stop me.” He cranes his head back to throw an unconvincing glare at Dean, who laughs harder.

He gets a bit lightheaded and takes a few deep breaths to bring himself back down. “Wish I could remember that.”

Cas shifts up until he's lying on his side next to Dean. He smiles, remembering the event. "I don't think your brother appreciated me doing it in front of him."

Dean chuckles, "Sammy can handle it." He grins at Cas, who grins back just as wide. "So that was it, eh? That's all it took?"

Cas nods, looking pleased with himself. He drags an absent finger up and down Dean's arm. "I could recreate it for you, if you'd like..." 

Dean's easy smile drops and he nods eagerly. "Yes. Definitely yes."

Cas leans forward and stops an inch too far. "And then you're going to see a doctor."

Dean wants to protest, but as much as he hates hospitals, he can't bear to put Cas or his brother through this again. He nods his assent. 

"Promise?" Cas pulls back a bit to look Dean directly in the eye.

Dean meets his gaze and even places a hand over his heart for good measure. "Promise."

Cas studies his face for a moment, looking for any signs of deception, and decides he’s telling the truth. "Okay." 

Dean is taken a little by surprise when Castiel closes the gap and pushes their mouths together with enough force to knock the headboard against the wall. Dean wraps an arm around Cas’ waist and pulls him close. Cas brings his hand up to adjust the angle of Dean’s jaw to his liking and then it’s all tongue and teeth and Dean’s growing a bit delirious.

A knock at the door regrettably breaks them apart. Sam calls to them from the other side. "You guys decent?"

Dean hoarsely yells "no" at the same time Cas yells "yes". They hear Sam heave another frustrated sigh and Cas crawls off the bed to open the door.

Sam enters the room, greets Cas, and drops his duffle on the floor beside the armchair. "How's your head?"

Dean is about to say "fine" when Cas gives him a stern look. "It's better today."

His stomach loudly protests the lack of food – the toast didn't really cut it – and he adds, "could do with some breakfast though."

Sam looks to Cas, who nods.

"We'll grab something on the way to the hospital. Can you stand?" Sam sets about gathering clothes that have been strewn around the room.

Cas helps Dean make it out of bed after he nearly falls over twice, and helps him get dressed while Sam checks them out of the hotel. A little before ten, they’re packed and heading out.

Cas insists that he sit in the back with Dean despite his protests that he can sit up in the car easily enough on his own. Dean doesn’t really mind though when Cas makes him lie down with his head in Cas’ lap. He quickly dozes off again after a few minutes of nimble fingers running through his hair.

As Sam pulls into a drive-thru to grab some breakfast, he glances at the pair in the back seat. Cas, too, is sound asleep, head resting on the back of the bench, one hand still buried in Dean’s short brown hair.

 _Whatever happens,_ he vows silently, _we’ll figure it out._


	2. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A closer look at some of Dean's lost time.

**TWO WEEKS PRIOR**

Dean had been lying unconscious in a hospital bed in Louisianna for sixty-seven hours.

When Sam and Castiel walked through the ER doors, supporting him between them at about 10pm three days prior, they were eager to believe that everything would be fine.

An hour later, they hadn’t heard anything and anxiety was starting to take hold. Shortly after that, a nurse told them there was nothing they could do but wait for him to regain consciousness, and he was admitted to a room.

Sixty-seven hours had passed since they walked into the room and began to wait.  Castiel had been sitting in a rigid and uncomfortable guest chair for approximately fifty-nine of those hours. The other eight were intermittently spent on sleep back at the motel (at Sam's insistence) and brief walks to the cafeteria downstairs to replenish blood flow and buy food that he couldn't bring himself to eat.  
  
 He’d also taken to wearing an old green button-down of Dean’s. He took it from his duffle, back at the hotel that first morning, about 6 hours after the ordeal. It wasn’t much of a comfort, but it smelled like Dean and the colour kind of reminded him of his eyes and that was enough to keep him grounded, from freaking out too much. If Sam noticed, he didn’t say anything. Castiel wouldn’t have cared either way.  
He knew he was acting like a grief-stricken, lovesick idiot, rarely leaving Dean's bedside, wearing his clothes, but Sam never called him on it, and in fact, seemed to understand. 

Sam spent a lot of time at the hospital as well and, despite doing his best to not look too worried in Castiel's presence, had a constant crease in his forehead and a tense set to his shoulders that gave him away. It was disheartening, waiting for something to happen and consistently seeing no change.  
  
They whiled away the hours in relative silence, each with their own thoughts to keep them occupied. Whenever Sam left to sleep or get food, Castiel was left alone. The only things in his world were cream-coloured walls, the pervasive smell of sterility, and the steady hum and rhythmic beeping of the machines that told him Dean was still breathing.  He latched on to those sounds like a beacon in the dark, the only things keeping him from feeling utterly lost.

He thought about climbing onto the bed with Dean just so he could feel his heart beating; another reassurance of his existence. He doubted any of the nursing staff would think it odd; some had even mistaken Castiel to be Dean's partner.  
  
That is not the case, he would tell them. That would never be the case. He couldn't even muster the courage to hold his hand for support. So he continued to sit beside the bed and watch the steady rise and fall of the man's chest, heart threatening to stop every time it faltered. Doctors came and spoke with Sam, and Castiel tried to ignore them. They never brought good news. It was always “wait a bit longer”, “we can’t find out what’s wrong until he wakes up” or “he might not wake up at all”. The last one stuck him like a dagger in his chest every time. But he knew they were wrong. Dean always came back. Not even this conviction was enough to stop the slow influx of doubt and worry as the hours dragged on.  
                                                
Sixty-eight hours and forty-seven minutes after being knocked unconscious, Dean opened his eyes. There was no warning, no sign that recovery had been close, he just blinked his eyes open and saw fluorescent lighting and a cork tile ceiling. When he very quickly became aware of the colossal headache raging through his skull, he reflexively lifted a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose and found several plastic tubes attached to it.  
  
Sam noticed the movement first. He sat bolt upright and closed the magazine he’d been reading. "Dean?"  
  
Cas had been half-asleep, curled up in the uncomfortable chair that had been his home for the better part of three days. Upon hearing Sam’s voice, he jolted awake, eyes flying wildly to the bed, where Dean was attempting to sit up.  
  
He flew out of the chair and was at his side quicker than light.  
  
"You're awake?" Cas could feel his chest brimming with an absurd amount of happiness and relief. The nagging concern and trepidation were still present, but they were background noise compared to the fanfare that erupted when he finally saw the emerald green irises of the hunter’s eyes again. A broad smile broke across his face. Dean was staring at him with an air of wonder and slight confusion.

"Hey, Cas." His voice was scratchy from disuse; Castiel had been starting to think that he'd never hear it again. He felt like he was going to burst with the overwhelming amount of emotion filling him up, unfamiliar and exhilarating at once. He couldn't stop himself. He braced a hand on Dean's shoulder and Dean barely had time to rasp out "is that my shirt?" before Castiel dove down and captured his mouth in a frantic, impulsive, desperate kiss.  
  
Dean briefly paused as his still painfully sluggish brain sorted out what was happening, and then he wrapped his arms as tightly as he could around Cas, pulling him down further until he had to half-crawl onto the bed to get to a workable angle. Off in the background they heard Sam call awkwardly "I'll just be out here then," before he ducked out of the room and closed the door behind him.

Dean still wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, but Castiel was a giant ball of tension and relief and desperation, and it was both confusing and liberating. He certainly never expected this kind of reaction from him. Sure he’d hoped that one day they’d work out this _thing_ they’d been dancing around for years, but he didn’t think it would happen so soon, and so exuberantly. Not that he’s complaining.

Castiel was a bundle of nerves that was being unraveled fast, and while there was still an element of restlessness, the movements of his mouth were very deliberate. He was committing to memory every ridge, every corner, every sensation. He caught Dean’s bottom lip between his teeth and when Dean sighed, he logged the reaction away and continued on, tongue swiping over the bite and delving in to continue mapping its territory. Dean was equally as enthusiastic, possessively laying claim to Castiel’s lips, tongue, teeth, everything.  
  
The nervous tension began to dissipate, and was replaced by a different kind of tension. They both seemed to realize that they could not continue down this road in a hospital bed with Sam outside the door, so they reluctantly slowed it down and broke apart.  
  
They were both breathing heavily, Dean more so, as he was weakened to begin with. Cas carefully crawled off the bed, suddenly a bit embarrassed, though he was fairly certain he had no reason to be, given Dean's response. He tentatively reached out and took Dean's hand, pulling the chair closer to the bed and sitting down again, distractedly smoothing the edges of his shirt.       
                                   
He could hear the grin in Dean's voice when he asked, "What was that for?"       
           
Castiel raised his head and gazed serenely into the hunter's green eyes, "You came back."    
         
Dean seemed a bit confused, but smiled, "I always do."  
  
They heard a knock at the door, and Sam stuck his head in. "Safe to come back?" 

Dean nodded and smiled at his brother, "Hey Sammy."    
  
Sam approached the bed, and Castiel swore he saw a small, almost smug grin when he spotted their joined hands.   
  
"Welcome back," Sam clapped him on the shoulder. The worried lines in his forehead hadn't smoothed out just yet, but he put on an easy expression.  
  
Dean knew his brother, though, and easily detected the tension. "Jesus, how long was I out?" He glanced between Cas and his brother, who were exchanging apprehensive looks.   
  
"Going on three days," Sam conceded.  
  
Dean's eyes grew wide. "Well, shit." That explained some things.  
  
The on-call nurse poked her head in, and smiled cordially when she saw Dean was awake. "Well good morning, Mr. Winchester."  
  
She crossed the room, carefully ushering Sam out of the way to check the machines that were still humming and beeping. Then she turned to Dean. "How are you feeling?"  
  
She was cute, long black hair pulled back in a pony, light hazel eyes soft and warm as she leaned over to check the glucose drip that was attached to his arm.      
  
He could have turned on the charm, flirted shamelessly like he normally would, but the unmistakeable warmth of Cas' hand in his was more than enough reminder that he didn’t need to anymore.

He shrugged, “Alright. Hungry, mostly.”

The nurse – Sandra, according to her nametag – nodded, “As soon as we get this glucose IV out and run some quick tests you can take a look at the menu and order some food.” She set about removing the needle from his arm. Dean felt Cas squeeze his hand a little tighter and he glanced over at his angel.

Cas was staring at the needle with a wary eye and Dean chuckled. The man shot him a damning look, but it quickly turned softer and he flashed a small smile.

Sandra piped up with a curious smirk as she noted a few things on Dean’s chart, “Thought you two weren’t a couple?”

Dean and Cas both blushed crimson as Sam barely stifled a laugh. Sandra looked at them all with a puzzled frown but didn’t push further. She merely shook her head and excused herself to notify Dean’s doctor that he was conscious.

Sam drew nearer the bed again to hover over Dean like a concerned mother hen. “How’s your head?” 

Dean had all but forgotten the searing pain that had faded to a dull throbbing. He could lie, but Sam would see through his bullshit. Always did. “Sore,” he conceded.

The concerned forehead reappeared and Dean rolled his eyes, “I’m fine, man. When can I get out of here?”

Sam scoffed and was about to argue but Cas beat him to it. “You were unconscious for _three days_ , Dean. Explain to me how that’s in any way ‘fine’.”

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Cas’ eyes were fiery and he didn’t want to risk pissing him off just minutes after their big revelation so he held his tongue.

Sam sighed, “We’ll see what the doctor says.”

Dean rolled his eyes again purely out of habit, caught a glimpse of the no-nonsense look on Cas’ face and nodded.

Sam sat back down in his chair, flipped open his magazine and continued to browse.

A little while later, Sandra returned with a list of food options. Dean didn’t spend very long deciding, soon as he saw ‘pie’ he ordered a slice. When she prompted him to choose a meal, he said he didn’t care, so long as there was pie. She winked conspiratorially and left the room. Fifteen minutes later, Dean had an extra large slice of apple pie à la mode and a bowl of beef stew. He ate the pie first.

Cas borrowed one of Sam’s books and read a few pages while Dean ate. Just as he finished, the door opened again and Sandra entered the room, followed by a blonde woman in a white coat.

“Mr. Winchester,” she took his chart in hand, “I’m Dr. Galen.” She wrote something on the sheet and passed the chart off to Sandra, who waved at them before scurrying out the door.

Dr. Galen remained at the foot of the bed. “I see you’re sitting up just fine. Do you think you can stand?”

Dean nodded and pulled the sheets back, swinging his legs over the side of the bed with some effort. Cas was still holding tightly to his hand, and he was thankful for the leverage. The doctor seemed to notice, as she offered, “Your husband can help you if you need it.”

Dean froze and his eyes flashed with a hint of panic and darted to Cas, who was mirroring his wary expression as they both pulled their hands back. Sam was silently shaking, hand covering his mouth as he raised his magazine higher.

Dean spluttered out, “N-no.. he-he’s not—!“  

At the same time Cas said, much more calmly, “We’re not married.”

Dr. Galen smiled graciously and said, “My mistake. Your _friend_ can help you if you need it.” The added emphasis on the word ‘friend’ led Dean to believe that she wasn’t inclined to believe them.  He rolled his eyes for a third time and, more forcefully than needed, grabbed Cas’ hand to steady himself as he attempted to stand.

He wobbled for a moment before he caught his balance. He felt his knees threatening to buckle, legs weak and shaky. He hoped he looked solid enough on his feet that they would release him. Dr Galen didn’t seem convinced. She watched closely as tiny tremors betrayed his weakened state.

Eventually, she said he could sit back down, which he gratefully did. Then she strode over, placing a light hand on his shoulder. “We’re going to need to run some tests. We need to find out what area was affected. Is that alright?”

Dean reluctantly nodded. He hated the thought of being in here longer, but Sam was now casting his concerned puppy-dog face over at him, and Cas’ grip on his hand was tight and he knew he wasn’t going to be free without doing some tests.

Dr. Galen smiled briefly and walked to the door, stopping to let him know that she’d try her best to fit him in tomorrow morning.

Dean sighed heavily and swung his legs onto the bed, lying back down.

Sam stretched, yawning wide and rose from his chair. He grabbed his coat and the car keys and glanced half-expectantly at Cas, who shook his head.

Sam nodded once in understanding and turned to Dean, “I’m gonna head back and get some shut-eye for a few hours.” He patted Dean’s calf before heading out the door with a “see you in the morning”.

Soon as Sam was gone, Dean slid over and patted the empty space on the tiny bed. Castiel shed his overshirt and shoes and gingerly climbed up. It creaked ominously, but seemed sturdy enough. Cas nudged his arm, indicating that he should turn around and Dean complied, rolling onto his side and scooting back into the warm body behind him. Cas slid an arm around his waist and pressed his forehead to the space between Dean’s shoulder blades and they lay in silence for a long moment before deep, even breathing, heard over the steady hum and rhythmic beeping of machines told Cas that Dean had fallen asleep. He tightened his hold on the hunter and prayed to an absent father that they would wake up in the morning and all would be fine, as he finally allowed himself to succumb to the seductive call of a good night’s sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felt like I should write that scene out. It was cute as fuck in my head, so I wanted to share the cuteness. Hope you enjoyed it. Also a bit sad..... sorry.


	3. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The grande finale.... or something.
> 
> To everyone who read this sad attempt at a multi-chapter fic, thank you. I'm working on a bigger project that will hopefully come to fruition soon... But in the mean time, have this epilogue :)

When they arrive at the hospital, Sam is the one to explain to the ER nurse what had happened in Louisiana (sans vamps, of course). Dean gets a standard check-up and some paperwork to fill out, which he glances at distastefully and hands off to Sam in favour of sitting with his head between his knees, while Cas rubs soothing circles into his back. After about twenty minutes, he’s admitted to a tiny holding room adjacent to the ER, and hooked up to a glucose IV, much to his chagrin. Another nurse scrounges up a couple chairs for Sam and Castiel and they squeeze them in as best they can.

As soon as the nurse leaves with the assurance that the doctor will return soon with a game plan, Castiel edges his chair impossibly closer to the bed and reaches for Dean’s hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing tightly.

The tense set to Sam’s shoulders and the worried crease in his forehead return and he immediately busies himself with a crossword from the morning paper.

Fortunately, Dean only has to endure a few minutes of Cas’ blue eyes burning a hole into the side of his head as he steadfastly tries to ignore the sad puppy look he’s getting. He’s close to cracking under the weight of all the worry and concern and sympathy that Cas, and even Sam, have been laying on him. He knows they mean well. He knows they want him to be okay. But it’s too much like pity, and Dean can’t stand it.

While he’s contemplating making a break for it, the doctor brushes aside the curtain that stands as a wall to the reception area. He’s an older man, probably mid-fifties with greying dark brown hair and about a day-and-a-half’s worth of stubble. He has large bags under his eyes and he looks like he wants nothing more than to go home.  Even so, his expression is conscientiously sympathetic and it only serves to frustrate Dean more.

“Mr. Winchester, my name is Doctor Grayson. How are you feeling?” The doc takes the two steps to bring himself to the end of the bed and smiles sympathetically down at him.  If one more person asks Dean how he’s _feeling_ he’s going to lose it.

He forgets that Cas is within smacking distance for a moment and automatically says, “I’m fine.”

He hears the annoyed huff from beside him and ignores it. Cas wouldn’t hit him while the doctor’s here. Probably.

The doctor looks unconvinced, but pushes on, flipping through printouts of neural images on his clipboard. “We had the neurologists in Louisiana fax over your scans. Looks like there’s been some bruising in the left temporal lobe. You must have hit your head real hard when you went down, the contusion goes pretty deep. You’re lucky it didn’t touch the hippocampus or you might’ve lost more than two weeks.” He looks up from the scans to find Dean staring at him with a confused quirk to his brow, and Castiel and Sam both nodding wisely.

Dean scowls at both of them before looking back at the doctor. “Right, yeah... one more time in English?”

Sam rolls his eyes from his chair beside the bed.

Dr. Grayson , no doubt used to explaining things again in layman’s terms for just about every patient, merely replies, “You injured an area of your brain that has a hand in the creation of long-term memory, but you didn’t break the important part.”

Dean nods slowly, coming to some understanding.

“He passed out two days ago and didn’t regain consciousness for several hours.” Castiel’s expression is flat, schooled as he addresses the doctor. He turns to Dean, “And you’ve been experiencing some pain, correct?”

Dean nearly scoffs at that but settles for complacent nodding. _Sure, just yesterday my head felt like it was exploding so yeah, there’s been_ some _pain._

 “Should we not be concerned about that?” Cas’ mouth is a tight line and the infinitesimal crease on his forehead grows as he turns back to the doctor who is once more studying the images of Dean’s brain.

 “We didn’t see anything abnormal on the scans, save for the contusions in the left hemisphere. Some pain is expected during recovery.” Cas  doesn’t look convinced and his brows knit together in a flash of frustration.

The doc glances at their joined hands, it would appear, for the first time and Dean clenches his jaw. He’d forgotten to care about the fact that people might think they’re a couple (because, well, they _are_ ) and prepares for some kind of adverse reaction, but the older man returns his gaze to Castiel and replies with a professional but warm smile, “We can certainly run some more tests just to be sure. It wouldn’t take more than a few hours.” He must read the frustration and restlessness on Dean’s face because he adds, “If everything’s square, you can be out of here by tonight.”

Sam breathes a heavy sigh of relief from where he’d been observing attentively in his chair, happy to let Cas take the reins, and the tense line of his shoulders relaxes. Castiel squeezes Dean’s hand again and the smile that breaks out across his face makes it very hard for Dean to resist fisting a hand in Cas’ shirt to pull him down and capture that gorgeous mouth with his own.

The doctor’s voice interrupts those thoughts, “You’re very lucky. You could have lost the ability to speak, or even your vision.”

Cas’ smile falters as his mind continues down the road that Dean vehemently avoids. It doesn’t matter. He drew the long straw in this particular game of chance and he’s not complaining. A few weeks of recovery isn’t that long. A lifetime mute or blind would mean the end of his career, his life.

Sam glances at them both before standing and running a hand through his hair. “So, what can we do to help him get better?”

Dr. Grayson sighs, “Unfortunately, not much. Just keep an eye on his progress, see if things start to come back to him. He may never recover everything, but as long as the contusions heal normally, he shouldn’t experience any future memory loss.”

Grayson jots a few things down on his papers before turning to glance once more at Dean, “If you experience more pain, feel free to take small doses of acetaminophen or ibuprofen, but under no circumstances are you to take aspirin. It’ll thin your blood and with your current injuries, it could cause excessive damage to your brain and there’s no coming back from that.”

He levels Dean with a very pointed stare as if willing the information to stick to his slippery mind. After a beat his expression softens and he smiles cordially. “I’ll send someone in to take you to an examination room.”

Dean instinctively wants to protest but Sam throws him a look, eyebrows raised and mouth taut. Dean rolls his eyes but hides it from Cas because he’s still not confident that he won’t hit him.

Sam stretches and mumbles something about finding a washroom and as soon as they’re alone, Cas stands, deliriously happy smile back on his face. Dean reaches up to tug on the lapels of his shirt and drags him down for a slow, reassuring kiss.

“See, Cas? Everything’s fine,” Dean murmurs against Cas’ lips. With his good hand he cups the side of Cas’ face and absently rubs his thumb across his cheekbone. He presses their lips together again, soft and chaste. Cas melts under his touch, brings a hand up to cover Dean’s as they rest their foreheads together.

They’re interrupted by a polite ‘ahem’ as a young nurse alerts them to her presence.

Cas jumps up from his chair, a fierce blush colouring his cheeks while Dean merely grins up at him. Even the nurse looks thoroughly embarrassed as she approaches the bed.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I need to take you to the exam room now, Mr Winchester.” She casts an apologetic look at Cas who moves aside to give her room to hook Dean’s IV bags onto a portable stand.

She makes sure the tubes aren’t in danger of being ripped out and asks Dean if he’s able to stand on his own.

Dean huffs, because it’s not like he’s an invalid, and swings his legs over the side of the bed. His first attempt at standing is a complete fail and Cas merely smirks at him before edging around the chair and IV stand and offering his hand.

Dean begrudgingly takes it and pulls himself up. He doesn’t try to let go of Cas’ hand, nor does Cas, and the nurse doesn’t seem to give two fucks one way or the other so that’s how they make it to the next checkpoint. Upon arrival, Cas is asked if he would rather wait outside or in the booth. When he gives the nurse a confused look, she elaborates.

“We’re going to run a test called an fMRI . It’ll take about 45 minutes and there can be no distractions or outside stimuli while the patient is in the machine.”

Dean groans inwardly. Forty-five minutes of dull silence. Fantastic.

“You can sit in the booth and watch, or you can wait out here. I’m afraid those are your only options.”

Unsurprisingly, Cas decides to watch. He follows them into the large, darkened room. In the middle of the room sits a machine roughly the size of a car. It has a large dome at one end and a long padded plank running through the centre. Opposite the machine is a large window looking into another dark room with several computers and other devices. Dean sits on the edge of the plank as instructed. The nurse sits on a swivel chair next to the machine and begins rolling two small orange things between her fingers. “Are you claustrophobic at all?” she asks.

Dean shakes his head. She nods and hands him the orange things. Ear plugs.  “The machine is going to be very loud,” she explains.

He puts them in his ears and can barely hear her when she gives him the next step.

“Lie down with your head on this end and try to clear your mind. Just focus on your breathing and relax, but don’t fall asleep. I’m going to give you an injection. It’s a contrast chemical that will allow us to monitor your brain activity.”

Dean stares up at the ceiling as her muffled voice tells him things he doesn’t care about. He just wants to get this over with. When he feels a small prick in his arm, he tilts his head to the side to see Cas smiling encouragingly at him. He raises his other hand to wave at him. Cas waves back and then he and the nurse leave the room.  He lifts his head to see them entering through a door on the other side of the window. The nurse sits down at the desk and the dome-like part of the machine shifts down to hang over his head. Her voice comes through speakers somewhere in the room. “Remember, Dean, just breathe. We’ll see you in 45.”

\--

Forty-five minutes and a whole lot of deliberate breathing later and Dean is finally being told to sit up. He tugs the earplugs out and tosses them in the bin next to the door on his way out of the room. Cas meets him on the other side with an annoyed Sam, who apparently freaked when he came back to find them gone and wandered the hospital for fifteen minutes looking for someone who could tell him where they were. 

Dean should feel bad but he’s too tired. He wants nothing more than to be back in the bunker. Back in his bed, with his awesome mattress, and Cas.

The nurse directs them to a bigger room this time, and after hooking Dean’s IVs to the bed, tells them that they may be waiting a while for results and that Sam and Cas should get some food and rest themselves. Sam thanks her and takes a seat in the chair furthest from the bed out of habit, knowing that Cas will want the closer one.

Soon as his head hits the pillow, Dean is bombarded with the desire for sleep. He searches for the controls to lower the bed into a comfortable position for sleeping.

“I think I’m gonna nap for a bit,” he mumbles as the bed straightens out under him.

“Good idea,” Cas fusses with the sheets so they’re covering Dean almost to his chin.

Dean wrestles an arm out from under the thin cotton sheet and casts one quick glance toward Sam to make sure he’s not looking, tugs Cas down for one more kiss before he turns on his side and closes his eyes.

***

One week later.

They’re back in Kansas, have been for a few days. Dean doesn’t realize just how much he missed his bed until he finally got to sleep there again. Of course, it was a little different with two decidedly not small people crammed onto the smallish mattress, but it was still heavenly.

After the fMRI there was another CT scan and then they were sent on their way. The results came in the next morning and as far as Dr. Grayson could tell, the only thing wrong was the initial bruising along the left side of his brain. Dean was given yet another list of things he could and could not do, and they set off back home.

Sam has taken this opportunity to force as much healthy food down his throat as he can while Dean is still healing. He’s also put a solid ban on hunting for the next couple weeks, so Dean has been catching up on his reading.

One particularly uneventful night, when Dean is two-thirds of the way through A Song of Fire and Ice, Cas wanders into his room. _Their_ _room,_ Dean reminds himself happily.

He wordlessly crawls onto the bed beside him and waits patiently for Dean to finish the page.

Dean reaches for an old receipt he’s been using in place of a bookmark (he once dog-eared the pages of Sam’s copy of Great Expectations and got a furious lecture about respecting other peoples’ belongings but above all, respecting literature) sliding it in and closing the book before placing it on the night stand.

Cas has a tendency for manhandling that Dean probably should have seen coming. Over the last few days he’s become quite used to being pulled and pushed and prodded into a comfortable position on their tiny bed. Tonight is no exception. Cas pulls him close until Dean’s head is resting on his shoulder and then proceeds to card his fingers through his hair. They rest like that against the headboard for a moment before Cas asks the inevitable question, “How’s your head?”

Dean can’t be bothered to get annoyed while he’s so comfy. “Still fine, Cas.”

Castiel grumbles something incoherent but what sounds like ‘just asking’. Dean smirks, knowing Cas can’t see it. He toys with the fingers of the hand not brushing through his hair. “Doc says I’m gonna be fine, remember?”

Cas sighs, “Yeah. I know you will be.”

Dean twists around and stares as Cas’ face transitions from content to amused to puzzled.

“What is it?” Cas prompts with a quirk to his brow.

Dean just smiles softly and leans in to capture Cas’ already anticipating mouth. They slide further down the bed as the kiss takes an urgent and ravenous turn. When Dean pulls away, Cas’ lips follow and a frustrated whine escapes him. Dean grins down at the sight of Cas laid out beneath him, still fully clothes but a sight nonetheless with his lips kissed red and swollen. Cas’ gaze is heady but growing increasingly, dangerously impatient. Dean sits up and begins to slowly unbutton the plaid flannel that Cas no doubt borrowed from his wardrobe and when Cas grins back he knows he’s on board.

Unbuttoning faster now, Dean leans down to whisper gruffly in his ear, “What do you say we start making up for lost time?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A disclaimer: While I am a fourth year university psych student, I didn't do much research for the neurological aspects of this fic. I mostly went off what I remember from class. Also I may have been generous in saying that Dean could have ibuprofin as it is also a blood thinner, just not nearly as strong as aspirin.
> 
> \---
> 
> I'm sorry it took so long.
> 
> And I'm half-sorry for leaving it the way I did ;)
> 
> I didn't really revise the last half too much so forgive me if there are errors.
> 
> Thanks for reading this little trifle of a thing :)


End file.
